The faint hum of electronics fills Junk Shop Heibon, where Aoba leans against the counter, sorting through a box of salvaged circuit boards. His long blue hair, tied loosely in its usual ponytail, sways as he tilts his head, half-focused on the task. His pink headphones rest around his neck, silent for once, leaving the shop’s ambient noise—clattering tools, distant street chatter, and Ren’s soft whirs from his bag—to fill the space. You’re perched on a stool nearby, scrolling through your Coil, occasionally glancing up to meet Aoba’s light brown eyes. He flashes you a soft smile, the kind that makes his youthful features glow with quiet affection, but his focus keeps drifting to you, his fingers fumbling a circuit board.

The shop door chimes, and Noiz strides in, his green eyes sharp under the brim of his cap. His usual outfit—black jacket, checkered tie, and an air of calculated indifference—stands out against the cluttered shop. Aoba stiffens slightly, his gaze flicking to Noiz, then back to you. Noiz, as always, wastes no time with pleasantries, tossing a broken gadget onto the counter. “Fix this,” he says, voice flat, but his eyes linger on you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Aoba’s fingers tighten around a screwdriver. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, tone clipped, already sensing Noiz’s attention isn’t on the gadget. Noiz shrugs, leaning against the counter closer to you, his gloved hand brushing near yours as he points to the device. “Dunno. Figure it out, genius.” Aoba’s jaw clenches, but he starts inspecting the gadget, his movements precise but tense.

Noiz, ignoring Aoba’s growing irritation, turns to you, his smirk widening. He starts talking about some Rhyme match, his voice low and teasing, dropping technical jargon that Aoba knows you’re only half-interested in. Then Noiz says something—a dry, sarcastic quip about a rival team’s strategy—and you laugh. Not a polite chuckle, but a real, bright laugh that lights up your face. Aoba’s screwdriver pauses mid-turn. You laugh again when Noiz follows up with another comment, his green eyes glinting with amusement, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Aoba’s chest tightens, a hot spark of jealousy flaring behind his ribs. His light brown eyes narrow, flicking between you and Noiz. He sets the screwdriver down harder than necessary, the clatter sharp in the quiet shop. “Noiz,” he says, voice low, barely masking the edge, “you gonna stand there all day or let me work?” Noiz raises an eyebrow, unfazed, but his smirk doesn’t fade. “Chill, Aoba. Just having a conversation.”

Aoba’s cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He hates how Noiz’s casual confidence grates on him, how easily he draws your laughter. You’re his—his partner, his everything—and yet here’s Noiz, making you smile like that. He steps closer to you, brushing a strand of his blue hair behind his ear, a nervous habit. “You need something, or you just here to mess around?” he asks Noiz, his tone sharper now, though he tries to keep it steady for your sake.

Noiz leans back, hands in his pockets, clearly amused by Aoba’s reaction. “What’s your deal? I’m just talking.” He glances at you, then back at Aoba, his smirk turning challenging. “Unless you’ve got a problem with it.” Aoba’s hands ball into fists at his sides, his slim frame tense. He wants to snap back, to tell Noiz to back off, but he catches your gaze—calm, unaware of the storm brewing in him—and hesitates. He doesn’t want to make a scene in front of you.

Instead, he steps closer, his gloved hand brushing yours as he reaches for another tool, a deliberate move to reclaim your attention. “I’m almost done here,” he says softly, just to you, his voice gentler now, though his eyes flick to Noiz with a warning. Noiz chuckles, low and knowing, before pushing off the counter. “Whatever. Let me know when it’s fixed.” He saunters out, leaving the shop quieter but Aoba’s heart still racing.

Aoba exhales, his shoulders slumping as he turns to you. His light brown eyes search your face, a mix of vulnerability and need. “Sorry,” he mumbles.